


Everyone Has an Addiction (Mine’s Just Considered Illegal)

by Jetti



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Breaking and Entering, M/M, POV First Person, Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-19 22:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetti/pseuds/Jetti
Summary: Ryan is a serial rapist of underaged boys, specifically teenagers. He has his eyes set on his next victim.





	Everyone Has an Addiction (Mine’s Just Considered Illegal)

**Author's Note:**

> Posting old, unfinished work. I don't plan on continuing it.

The truth is, I like boys. A lot. This fact wouldn’t be so strange if I were not a twenty-six-year-old man. Even so, I am most definitely not a pedophile and should not be lumped in that repulsive category. By definition, pedophiles have a love of children, prepubescent children. My taste tends to fall upon teenage boys, so I suppose the term ephebophile is a more accurate description of myself; the description no one (besides my past victims) has yet to discover.

I was not always like this. The sight of a young male had not always caused tingles to go up and down my spine or warmth to pool in my stomach. Goodness, no. I was what society deems as normal until about the age of nineteen. That was when the urges started. 

In the beginning, they were only minor thoughts that would pass through my mind. When they didn’t go away on their own, I would push them out of my head and distract myself with something else, keep my mind busy. This method was effective, but just for a while. 

I had brushed the feelings aside, blaming a lack of action in the bedroom as the source. I swiftly picked up a random guy at the gay bar I snuck into with my fake I.D. and thought my problems would be solved. Everything was going accordingly; he brought me back to his place--which was remarkable, considering he was drunk off his ass--and made it into the bedroom. We made out for some time and I believed this was where I wanted to be, a solution to the unnatural thoughts I was having.

Things did not turn out as planned. I couldn’t get it up. In all of my life I had never had a problem in performance. I was nineteen goddamn years old at the time for God’s sake, these sorts of things were not supposed to happen. Confused and embarrassed from my lack of physical response, I hurried myself out of there, claiming I was late for an appointment. Late for something at around midnight? Yeah, right. The guy was wasted and would forget my face by the time he’d be nursing a hangover, so there was no reason for a more logical excuse anyway.

Frustrated, I attempted the same thing the next night, but at a different bar. Then I tried again, and again, and again. No matter what I did, the result was the same. Men my own age and older no longer excited me like they had in the past. That and the lustful thoughts of youthful boys only grew more prominent. All shapes, sizes, ethnic backgrounds, I could not stop thinking about them. Wherever I went, be it the library, music store, park, supermarket, I could not escape them. After a while I accepted my feelings for younger company of the male variety, but how to act upon them? It took many hours of thought, planning, and fantasizing until I made my move on my very first target. 

He was around fourteen or fifteen at the time when I saw him playing baseball with his friends at the park. I sat down on a park bench and watched from a safe distance away, not far away enough to need binoculars and not too close to rouse suspicion of my ill intentions. The boy had short blonde hair and soft blue eyes. The absence of a shirt made me even more interested, observing the sweat from effort and heat from the summer day drip down his tan little body. 

It seemed like forever until he and his friends were finished their game, which, by that time, the sun was nearly swallowed by the horizon. I saw him wave goodbye to his companions and head in the other direction, probably going home. I discreetly followed him, admiring the way his white shirt he had put back on was soaked though and sticking to his skin. Oh, what a fine boy he was. I got so caught up in staring that he noticed he was being followed.

He turned around and confronted me in a defensive stance. I came ready with some bullshit story that my dad’s out of town and I was going to get drunk off his beer, offering the young boy to join me. It didn’t take much convincing after I said he didn’t have to pay me. It was simpler to make the kid trust me than I had originally thought. I predicted such an invitation to be questioned and take much more persuasion by the average innocent teenage boy. It seemed he was not the naive type of person, but more so a ‘bad boy’ for his age, who would sneak off with friends and get high and/or drunk with his parents being none the wiser.

I led the boy to my crappy apartment I paid for myself since my dad sure as hell didn’t care about my existence even before I turned eighteen and was kicked out of the house. I unlocked the door, trying to seem unhurried and nonchalant, and ushered the unsuspecting boy inside. I soundlessly turned the lock after I closed the front door. The boy looked around my living room, inspecting the ruddy shag carpet and overstuffed sofa. He commented that my home was a ‘shithole’ and I had to agree. It was all I could afford at the time, being under the wrath of minimum wage and all. 

I ventured into the kitchen for the alcohol I bought off someone of age at the corner of the local liquor store and tossed him one while placing more cans on the flimsy coffee table. He made himself comfortable on the sofa, sighing a bit before popping the tab. He took a sip of the bitter liquid and asked me my name. I had already decided ahead of time not to give him my real name and chose to use middle one instead. Ryan. There was no way I could forget it. 

I soon found out the young blonde’s name was Bobby after he downed a few more gulps. I held my beer in my hand, opened, by otherwise untouched. There was no way I would impair myself physically or mentally; I needed complete focus to go through my plan without fail. 

It was only time until he was vulnerable, and I could make my move. We chatted for a while about random stuff like music or whatever else would keep a teenager talking. Bobby did not seem to notice I wasn’t drinking my beer, just holding it in my hand while we prattled back and forth. I could tell the alcohol was taking effect by the way his words slurred and motor skills worsened. I grinned and excused myself to the bathroom. I doubted the boy even heard me say anything he was so out of it. Instead, I actually went to my bedroom, grabbed some lubricant, a condom, and a pillowcase. I fantasized of all the details earlier while he rambled for a while, nodding with feigned interest and attention. 

When I returned, Bobby looked almost like he was about to pass out. He had sagged over on his right side at one point, so he was in a laying down position with his eyes closed. Perfect. I made my move, placing myself over his body and used the pillowcase as a gag to ensure he wouldn’t be able to scream for help. In my building, screaming would not be much of a red flag anyway.

I secured the twisted pillowcase in his mouth quickly and effectively, causing a few lazy muffles of protests to sound behind the makeshift gag. Bobby was far too inebriated to wrap his head around the current situation. 

I took a barely audible exhale before slowly taking off the teenager’s shirt, my hands shaking slightly in anticipation, revealing the tanned skin I had observed earlier that afternoon. It looked so smooth, pure. God, how I ached to just rip his clothes off and take him right then and there, but I held back; the longing to take it nice and slow, savor every moment, won over the urge to ravage the damn boy. 

I smiled down on the boy while I fettered his wrists together with his shirt, taking in his half-lidded eyes and adorably flushed cheeks from the alcohol. It was my desire, the craving I had wanted to satisfy for so long and could not grasp, until now.

I slid down to remove his sneakers, socks, and denim shorts. Bobby, barely conscious at this point, was left solely in his white briefs. My breath hitched in excitement and arousal as I absorbed every minute detail in my brain for later use, another investment in the spank bank. 

After getting my eye-full, I tugged down the last remaining garment painstakingly slowly. I was teasing myself as much as ensuring my first encounter would not end too quickly. So much time and effort in planning would be a waste if the actual act only lasted a short amount of time. 

Once Bobby was completely naked beneath me, I grabbed the lube from the coffee table and adjusted his body position, so he was face down and pulled back onto his knees toward me. I licked my lips slightly and inserted my slick index finger into the assumed virgin hole. The teen definitely was not passed out, for he made some displeased sounds and attempted to move away from the intrusion. His tries were futile, even if I had not secured my other arm around hips; his mind and motor skills could not assist him now. 

I soon added another finger and another after that, being as gentle as possible. Bobby still struggled helplessly as I pumped my digits in and out of his body. I found myself making soothing sounds and even stroked his back affectionately to stop him from fussing. It did not really work, but it was worth a try. I did not want to hurt the poor boy, which was why I made sure the preparation was thorough and as painless as I could make it. 

After I felt that I could not wait any longer and was sure he would be ready for me, I snatched the condom and rolled it on. I lubed up my aching erection and eased myself inside the teenager, gasping out at the tight, wonderful sensation. This was hands down the most fantastic feeling I had ever experienced. Through the fog of pleasure, I could still hear poor Bobby making pitiful sounds through the gag. I bent over so my chest was flush against his back and stroked his fine blonde locks. I told him it was going to be okay and kissed his temple. 

A moment or so later I had begun to thrust in and out him, letting my moans and groans escape my lips with each slap of our skin. His cries and sobs that could be heard through the pillowcase were covered by my ecstasy-drenched sounds of enjoyment. It did not take long until Bobby made a strange noise against the gag, not one of pain. Aha, I had found his prostate. I continued to move my hips in the same manner as to stimulate his prostate and cause more feral sounds. It took a few tries, but I was successful.

I could hear moans in place of the earlier cries and reached down underneath him, grazing my hand over his hard-on. My movements were increasing in speed and delivery, almost frantically fucking the boy’s brains out. His grunts were in sync with my own while I jacked him at the same pace, I fucked him. It wasn’t long for Bobby to come with a cry, warm and wet on my hand and the sofa. I brought my hand up to my mouth and licked his essence off my skin, relishing in the taste. The feeling of his tight walls around me and taste in my mouth was too much and I finished off into the condom. I had been panting and gasping for breath for quite a while and could now take a deep inhale to calm my fast-paced heart. I had finally given in to my temptation and it was delicious. 

Bobby was my first target and I could not get enough. I have been moving from town to town since then, perfecting my methods of persuading and dominating adolescent males into bed. I experimented the somewhat legal way with real relationships involving teenagers, but I could not get the same adrenaline rush I felt when forcing myself on my targets after seeking them out. The thrill of the hunt is nearly as sweet as the kill. 

I don’t have to worry about getting arrested like the rapists on television program I used to watch, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit; my modus operandi has been executed just about flawlessly so far, and I’ve been doing this for years now. Most boys either enjoy the treatment after the first initial surprise or deny it is even happening, claiming they aren’t gay and never speak of it after the fact. Whichever way my targets choose to react does not really matter, for they both benefit me. For the most part, they never see my face totally unobscured to give an accurate description to police even if they had the courage to do so. I can continue my actions without fear of getting caught and punished. 

It is not as if I’m hurting the boys like the main character in the Japanese hentai video game RapeLay that I have read about in the newspaper and other sources. Now that is some seriously vile and disgusting shit and could not be more than polar opposite of what I do. I never leave a single mark on any of their bodies; I am loving them. Each time—be it consensual or not—I am gentle and considerate with everything I do, be it stretching them in preparation for a long period of time with slow and soft finger motions, inserting myself inside them with ease and awareness, waiting until their bodies are accustomed to my presence in them before moving, or starting with small, even thrusts to the point where I feel they are ready for faster and harder movements; I am good at what I do. 

At the moment, I am sitting on a stone bench at the local mall, looking for my next target underneath the brim of my paperboy style hat. What’s the name of this town again? Summerville, or maybe Summerland? I know the word ‘summer’ is somewhere in there. It is hard to keep the towns in which I am currently staying straight since I move so quickly after my business in the area is done. 

I yawn slightly and sigh, looking around at the wide selection of adolescents perusing the many shops in the building. I consider what type I am in the mood for. I directly avoid overly muscular boys, or they may overpower me, and that is not a wise move. Though I could get the stronger type of adolescent drunk and take advantage of him like I did Bobby, I prefer to have my victims sober and completely conscious of what’s happening to them. I wouldn’t say I have a definite type, either. Recently, I tend to seek out petite boys--not because they are small and girlish, but that I find the body structure to be rather lovely and I can easily dominate them. I myself possess long, slender limbs that go well with my tall height, so that may possibly be a reason why my type reflects something similar. Who knows?

I sit here silently for a while and fail in finding a boy who piques my interest. I have been in a bit of a slump lately, craving for something, someone who will give me that spark I’ve been dying to feel again. I rise from the bench and begin to walk around the semi-crowded mall. It is summertime again, which means kids have a break from school and are free to be out and about during the day if they so choose. Oh, how I love the summer. It gives me such a larger frame of time to select my next boy compared to having to wait until three in the afternoon or so on weekdays.

I enter the closest store, Borders, and take a look around for books and boys alike. Unluckily for me, there are mostly adults and teenage girls occupying the store, which means no chance at all to find my next target. Even if there was a boy the specific age bracket I enjoy, it does not necessarily mean I would choose him. I have standards like everyone else and will not just pick up the first living, breathing adolescent boy that comes across my path. That is what makes the hunt all the longer and the attack all the more pleasurable. I leave the store in defeat, from the poor selection of boys and books alike, but do not show it on my face. 

Hmm, I’m a little hungry. It’s a pain I do not know the setup of the mall so well yet and it will take me a while to find the food court under these conditions. Oh, well. There is always a hope of the next target just around the corner. I come across a map of the building and walk the correct direction for lunch.

I purchase a classic Cinnabon and take a seat in a vacant metal chair on the outskirts of the tabled area. As I cut my treat into pieces with the white plastic fork and knife, I casually people watch. About halfway done my snack, I am ready to sigh in despair from not finding anyone with potential yet, when I see him.

This young boy gives me the spark I have been searching for and then some. He is of average height for his age, which I can guess is around fifteen, with a nice petite frame and dark head of hair. The clothing seems rather dressy for a trip to the mall, I note. He is wearing black shoes, a finely pressed white dress shirt adorned with a pinstriped tie, and black slacks that do nothing to hide the perfect round curve of his ass. My eyes travel up his body to see his plush lips, pale skin, and lively dark eyes behind a set of red-framed glasses. Dear lord, he is just what I’ve been looking for.

I zone out from my inspection and see the boy is being accompanied by an older man and woman who are also dressed in the same classy manner. I can assume they are his parents. My gaze follows the family, centering on the young boy as they wait in line at some nondescript food place. I tear my eyes away to check my watch, which says 11:10 a.m. It takes me a bit longer to realize the date, a Sunday. Oh, they are going out to lunch after morning Mass, maybe. Interesting.

I pick up my fork that has somehow fallen from my grasp in the excitement and continue eating slowly. I position the chair and my body, so I am facing more toward my newly discovered target, pretending to space out while eating, but really watching the boy without making it seem obvious.

He looks to be full of energy and happiness. If my assumption is correct and the family is back from church, I can also assume the boy is religious. Most kids would seem tired and drained after having to get up early on a Sunday morning and sit through something they hate or find boring, but not him. I can conclude the boy likes church and follows the rules of whatever church in which he worships. Oh, how I would love to pop the butt sex cherry of a boy who believes homosexuality is wrong, along with sexual intercourse before marriage. God, I’m becoming more anxious as times goes on. 

The family has received and paid for their meal at this point and comes upon an unoccupied table with a booth on one side and two chairs on the other. The boy takes a chair that faces my direction while his parents sit in the booth together. I do my best to eat slower still as to have a reason for sitting alone at a table to observe him. I cannot blatantly sit in the food court without food in front of me and watch the boy without someone noticing some ulterior motive. I have gotten too much experience to allow a rookie mistake to slip me up. 

I cease eating altogether and slide my cell phone from the confines of my front right pocket, acting like I am checking messages or texting. My eyes flick up from time to time and see my target laughing and moving his hands around animatedly while he speaks with his parents. Yes, he does look like a happy boy. I cannot wait to find out what he’ll look like when we get fully acquainted.  
I can tell the small family of three is getting close to finishing their meal, so I quickly consume the rest of mine and toss the cardboard box and utensils in the paper bag and into the trash. Although they may only be done eating and not shopping, I like to be prepared, and losing this beautiful boy who gives me that elusive spark would be tragic. 

Without drawing attention to myself, I go down the escalator and out the nearest exit of the mall. I remember I parked in the A-2 section of the parking lot and find my dark blue vehicle. The car itself isn’t really too eye-grabbing or memorable, which is perfect for what I do. There is no point in getting something flashy that could tip off a teenager I may be following him. I also have a bunch of license plates from a selection of states I removed from old abandoned cars I came across in case I needed a switch. The more experience under my belt, the smarter at this game I become.

I drive to a parking space by the exit for when the boy leaves with his parents, I’ll be right behind them. I scanned and took note of the parking lot layout before I entered the mall so I would know if there were multiple exits. To my advantage, there is one way in and one way out. 

I smile triumphantly to myself and kill the engine. I turn the key, so I am able to listen to the radio and tune it to my liking. I lie back against my comfy seat and wait. For most people, waiting is a pain in the ass, but not to me once I have found my next victim. My head is swimming with images of what I will do to that unsuspecting boy and how I will accomplish them; I am always coming up with plans and fresh ideas for my targets. 

I don’t have to worry about cash for gas or food for a while after working at that last job. I’m pretty set with my current money situation. I sleep in my car for the most part and eat at cheap places with dollar menus, unless I feel like treating myself to something more substantial and expensive. I run and do yoga to stay in shape and my high metabolism prevents me from gaining fat too quickly anyway. I felt so free after I had graduated college because it meant I could travel and find decent paying work without the leash of school keeping me tethered to a certain area. Also, a lot of places will hire a person just based off whether they attended college or not, not even caring about the field of study. Yes, college was a very smart decision. I have such a longer range of occupational opportunities than if I chose to begin traveling right after high school. 

While looking bored and apathetic to anyone who may see me, I am really watching intently at every single car that passes me, hoping the boy who has been the object of my fantasies for the past half hour will be inside one. 

It doesn’t take long for me to spot the two well-dressed adults in the front seat of a spotless white car and spy their son in the back. Thank god for non-tinted windows. My body thrums with the pleasant adrenaline running through my veins as I pull out of the parking lot and keep my eyes on the car. I do not stay right on the guy’s bumper or anything that would just make the intentions transparent and defeat the purpose of stalking the boy. There is not a lot of traffic, but enough for me to give the distance between us a lot of space without risking losing sight of the car. 

The car ride from the busy and congested area to a more sleepy-looking rural town lasts around ten to fifteen minutes and I catch the house number of the driveway the white car pulls into. Once I reach the stop sign at the end of the long street, I take my notebook and pen out of the glove compartment and jot down the street name and house number. I proceed with driving forward, always aware of where I am going, until I decide to double back and go on the street where the boy lives to make sure the house number is right. I drive by and see the same white car of house number I wrote down. I have the correct information. 

I continue my way around and take mental notes of things I see and will record for later. I stop my car at the nearby park and write down the imperative synopsis. The neighborhood in which the boy resides is fairly nice with a hell of a lot of space in between houses and tall fences or shrubberies. His house in particular is painted white with a red front door and matching shutters, black tiled roof, and rose bushes along the front of the house. The grass is looking a little long and has a walkway from the sidewalk to the front door. Behind and across from the house is a wooded area, which will probably give me cover if I want to watch the house from the security of a tree branch. The street itself does not have any street lights except for the one in the middle of the street. The boy’s house is at an end, which is perfect for an attack at night, my specialty.

I begin drawing up possible plans with the information I now have and write down my options. After I am content for the time being, I get out and lock the door, and then pocket my car key and walk on the dirt pathway of the park. I see a wooded area, much like the one across the street from the target’s house and venture in. I step over fallen trees and push branches out of my face or way. I start to sweat from the combination of warm weather and effort, but do not let it bother me. I’m on a mission. 

My efforts turn out to be profitable when my eyes come upon houses through the thick forestry. I walk parallel to houses until I happen upon the red-shuttered house with a white car in the driveway. I smile smugly at my discovery and slowly move forward, lest I am seen, and my plans be compromised. From the concealment of trees, I recognize the boy, my target, mowing the front lawn in a change of less valuable clothes. I reach the closest point I can muster without chancing being found out and take vigil of the hard-working young boy. When he is done trimming the grass and putting the mower away in the garage, his mother emerges from the house with a glass of yellow liquid, lemonade, perhaps. He practically beams at the woman and takes the icy drink happily. The two begin talking, which I cannot hear from my far-off location, and walk into the house together via the front door. Now I have the address and the absolutely perfect place from which to watch the house. 

I hum to myself as I make my way out of the woods by the end the street. It is not logical to observe the front half of the house any longer since I have had my fill of the day. I must know both sides of my victim’s home. The more I know, the more prepared and surer of myself I will be. 

I fight my own path through the woods behind the boy’s house until I am in view of the fenced-in backyard. The fence itself probably comes up to about my waist and is not the noisy chained fence or picket, but of plain white plastic. I would easily slide underneath or climb over it if I should enter the house through the back. 

The backyard is neat with healthy green grass and a small garden of azaleas, lilies, gardenias, and jasmine—I had worked in a florist shop for a while, so I know my flowers. There are two rows of three windows at the back of the house, some shades drawn and others not. Other than that, there isn’t much else to the house, no trampoline or swing set in the back, which can be seen as a positive factor, less chance of tripping on anything in the middle of the night and causing a commotion. 

I survey the house for a while longer and it isn’t until I spot my target through one of the windows do, I realized this may be his bedroom, the top floor, far left. It is too difficult to determine just yet, and I will have to come back later where I can get a better look. Satisfied with what I have discovered so far, I return to my car in the nearby park. 

The lines of my notebook become filled quickly with more observations, possibilities, and predictions the boy, his home, and how I will go about gaining access to his house. When done jotting down every single detail and thought I possess, I type the address into my GPS for safekeeping and drive off in search of a motel or hotel with vacancies. I do deserve an actual bed as a reward for all my hard work. 

I come across a fairly well-kept two-story motel several miles away and park there. I gather the necessary materials from my car and pack them in the suitcase from the trunk. After I enter through the glass doors, I smile politely at the woman seated at the front desk and request a room. She smiles back, a little more than friendly, her eyes going up and down my body. I ignore her wandering gaze and take the keycard from her hand after signing my name and leave for the direction of my room. 

The room is rather small with a single bed, beige carpet, tan walls, a side table by the bed, two dressers with a television perched on one of them, closet, and bathroom. I pocket the keycard and drop my suitcase next to the bed, taking a load off, the thoughts of the boy lingering in my mind. I decide to wait until night to venture out again and stake out the house since the darkness will be a good cover in the wooded area. I grab the remote and turn on the TV to kill some time. It is not until around seven in the evening that I deem it time to prepare for my next outing. I change into all black clothing, put on my best shoes for the terrain, and take out a small bag from my suitcase. I pack my voice recorder, binoculars, and video camera. After having a quick bite of the food I purchased at a Shop Rite the other day, I am ready to go. 

~Approximately a week of surveillance, obsessive note-taking, and meticulous preparation later.~

Tonight is the night. All the planning and fantasizing is coming to an end because it is time to finally take action. It has been dark for several hours, the full moon being the only source of light, when I begin my leisurely walk through the woods. I utilize my flashlight until the houses are in sight and from there, I feel my way as if going blind through a maze. I let out a shuddery breath and place the flashlight in my shoulder bag, along with the other supplies I require for this to go off without any complications. All the lights in the house are shut off and I grin to myself. The boy is probably asleep in his bed, dreaming away in a sense of safety and security. Now is the time to wake him up.

I cross the street in long strides, my footfalls nearly silent from years of practice. I finger the indentation of the switchblade in the front right pocket of my jeans before stopping in front of the door. I lift up the Welcome mat as I saw the object of my obsession do the other day and snatch the silver key from the hiding place underneath. I slide the key into the hole of the doorknob and turn it to the right ever so slowly. The clicking sound indicates I have unlocked it, so I put the key in the proper place and turn the bronze doorknob with my right hand while pushing against the door with the other. Thankfully there is no creaking from the door hinges as I open the front door. I close the door as slowly as I opened it and let a soundless sigh escape my lips. I am inside his house while his parents are gone; the moment I have been waiting for is not too far away. 

I look around the front room--my eyes having grown used to the dark--and notice a set of stairs which I decide to put to use. I grab on to the railing with both hands on either side of me and cautiously take the first step. I cringe at the slight squeaking my weight has created from the wooden step. I can see there are exactly seven steps, so I stretch out my left leg to the farthest possible step, and because of my long limbs, I am able to skip four steps without too much hassle. 

I reach the top step and stare down the empty hallway. There are many doors to choose from, and from what I could tell in my previous observations, the one down the hall to the left is supposedly his room. I do not go directly there because the boy could easily change his routine and sleep in his parents’ room while they are away in a demonstration of loneliness. In my line of work, assumptions cannot be taken for fact. 

I quietly try the first on my left and stick my head into the room. It’s a bathroom. I go for the door next to it and discover it’s a smaller room with only a desk with a computer sitting on top of it. The one following that has been the room he has been sleeping in, so I save that for last in favor of checking the other rooms. I reach the first door on the right and the room has a queen-sized bed with a quilt. Probably the parents’ room, I suppose. The one adjacent to that has a single bed, maybe a guest room. That leaves the last door on the left and I strike gold.

As soon as I open it, I spot his sleeping face. The bed is pushed up against the wall to my right, the door being about a foot away in distance. I tiptoe inside the room and lock the door after shutting it, just in case he escapes my grasp and goes to make a run for it. It is an unlikely scenario, but better safe than sorry.

I turn toward the boy and just watch him sleep. He is lying under pale blue sheets, from what I can tell, with his chest rising and dropping in slow, even breaths of air. The light from the moon seeps in from the window and between the blinds, highlighting his pale skin in strips. He looks so peaceful, so innocent like this. I take the time to cherish the moment before stepping forward.

I place the bag next to the bed, slide off my shoes and cotton socks, and take the last step forward so I am standing in front of his beautiful face. I caress his cheek in my hand, his skin smooth and soft against my palm and fingertips. Smiling, I put my hands on either side of his body against the mattress and right knee on the edge of the bed. I swing my other leg over nimbly and tower over the sweet, unsuspecting boy. His one arm is bent above his head while the other rests upon his chest. I could easily take hold or bind his wrists together, but I would much rather have them free for other uses. Of course, if he became rather unruly, I do have a rope in my bag, but that is only to be used if necessary.

The switchblade is out of my pocket and in my hand is seconds. I shift up his body some more and position the blade on his neck after clicking the button to release it. My entire being is nearly vibrating from the excitement, but I keep my mind focused and on task. I slyly put my left hand against his pretty mouth and run my hot tongue over his exposed cheek. I relish his taste and see the action has not woken him up, so I lean my mouth by the side of his head.

“Time to wake up, pretty,” I whisper soothingly in his ear. 

The boy sluggishly comes to consciousness and I can feel him jerk in panic when the cold blade presses against his throat. The sharp edge is resting against him in a light pressure, not enough to draw blood--that’s not what I want. My lips are still by his ear as I instruct, “Don’t scream for help or resist. Nothing bad will happen if you follow everything I tell you. Nod if you understand.”

He moves his head up and down slightly while breathing heavily through his nose. 

“Good,” I say softly, removing my hand from his mouth and let it lightly run across his cheek before detaching from him. I sit back on his hips with the knife still on his skin. He continues to breathe rather harshly, his chocolate brown eyes wide with fear and staring at me, though without his glasses. It makes me wonder how much he can see on this night. 

“It’s okay. You can relax. Don’t worry.” His eyes follow my weapon as I take it away from his neck. “See?”

He does not say anything in response, only alternating looks at the knife and my face. I can see his eyes fill up with tears already and feel his body shaking under me. My, he must be scared out of his mind and I have not even done anything yet.

“What’s your name?” I ask politely in the same calm voice I have been using this entire encounter, cocking my head to the side. “You must have a name.”

The boy whimpers and closes his eyes with wet tears slipping from them, as if to wish the situation away or maybe wake up from a nightmare. Poor boy. I let him sob a bit, patience one of my strong points at the moment. 

“Pl-please. Don’t hu-hurt m-me,” he sputters out quietly, eyes still shut tight.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I said that already. You haven’t answered my question,” I chide. “What’s your name?”

“B-Bren-don,” he finally comes out with after a moment of steadying his breath. 

I sigh, “Well, Brendon. I would much rather you open your eyes. Do you think you can do that for me?”

He knows he must cooperate in order to stay uninjured, or that’s as much as I have told him so far. He nods again and does as I say, revealing his vulnerable and wet eyes to me.

“Yes, that’s better,” I say, brushing his dark bangs out of his eyes. He flinches slightly from my touch, but I ignore it. “I’m putting the knife away now, see? No more crying.”

I fold the blade back in its holder and place it safely back in my pocket. I smile down at Brendon in earnest and wipe away any stray tears delicately from his face. I want Brendon to trust me and get the point across that I will not hurt him as long as he is obedient. I shush him while stroking his cheeks lovingly. After a few minutes, he does indeed stop sobbing, but the fear remains in his eyes.

“Now if you could take your clothes for me, we can begin.”

Brendon chokes audibly at my command. “W-what if-f I refuse?” he questions, his voice not above a whisper, quivering much like his body. I can see some glimmer of hope in his brown eyes, wishing some type of compromise can be found instead of what I want. 

“Hm, that is not really an option here. There’s no one to protect you. I am much older and stronger than you and have a weapon. The odds are in my favor. Know that I do not want to hurt you, Brendon, but will if you choose to disobey me. The choice is yours on how we go about doing this.”

A look of panic crosses his face, eyes racing back in forth in thought of alternative actions to escape the situation. A moment passes and he closes his eyes in defeat. He knows he is stuck, helpless under me—literally and figuratively speaking. When tears begin springing from his dark eyes again, he uses his hands to hide his face from me. 

“Hey, none of that. I want to see you,” I say as I slide my body closer to his, so we are face to face, pulling away his hands. I have his wrists in my large hands with a firm—but not harsh—grip and force him to look at me. “Following my orders is the best thing you can do, Brendon. Now remove your clothing and the knife will not make another appearance, okay?” 

He nods, crying harder at this point, but cooperating. I get off from my position over him and sit back on his bed with my legs crossed to watch him complete the task. He pushes the covers from his body and trembling fingers start to unbutton his thin pajama top. Brendon understandably fumbles quite a bit with sliding the button through the slits in the material, shuddering breaths and pitiful sobs all the while. I lean back on my left hand, rubbing the front of my jeans with the other, and enjoy the newly revealed pale skin of his torso with each button. When the final one is popped, he slides the cloth off his shoulders to fall on the bed. His bare chest is exposed, an unmarred expanse of porcelain skin for my eyes to drink in to my heart’s content. 

The teenager stares at his sleep pants and then at me and I motion my head up and down in confirmation for him to continue the undressing process. He makes another choked sound before hooking his fingers under the waistband and hesitantly tugs them down and off his legs. He is left in his blue and white polka dotted boxers and glances at me from underneath his bangs. My gaze does not falter so he reluctantly extracts the final piece of clothing covering his nudity, cheeks red with embarrassment and humiliation. Brendon pulls his legs up to his chest quickly and wraps his arms around his legs to shield his naked body from being seen, crying into his knees. It’s my turn to stop observing.

“Hey now. What are you doing that for? You should be proud of your body. I mean, just look at you,” I say, referring to his body with a wave of the hand. “You’re beautiful.” 

He keeps his face on his knees, but I can hear him ask in a small, muffled voice, “W-why are you doing t-this?” 

I take a moment to think of a good, truthful answer. “Well, I find you very attractive, Brendon, and I plan to have sex with you tonight… multiple times, in fact. I know it seems terrifying at first just thinking about it, but I assure you, the whole experience will be enjoyable for both of us.”

Brendon’s head snaps up, but that is the only part of his body that changes position, though he is still shaking. His eyes grow in shock and mouth goes agape at my words and straightforwardness, but what else would he think I would want him naked for? I would rather not sugar-coat anything and scare the shit out of the kid later. I have learned that honesty is the best policy over the years. It is most beneficial for the target to know what I have in store for him, so he mentally prepares himself ahead of time and has less of a freak out when it takes place. I have laid out my plans clearly and may now focus on accomplishing them. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Brendon?”

He shakes his head slowly, sniffling with tears persisting to streak down his gorgeous face.

Without further ado, I close the few inches separating us and brush my lips against his. It’s chaste and lasts a few seconds, much unlike the savage attack he was probably expecting, but his breath hitches all the same. I pull back slightly to look at him, smiling of course, and move back to resume kissing. 

I unlock his hands from around his knees, with some trouble from the reluctant boy, and push him back onto the bed with me on all fours over him. He just lays there with his hands now over his bare genitals, continuing to squirm and resist with closed eyes, but my hands on his face keep his head steady. I don’t mind the struggle at all. Most boys try to block out the event, but I always win them over in the end. 

I resume kissing his full lips with a closed mouth, making soft sounds as I do so, a bit of a warm up for what is to come. After a short while, he stops resisting with my body, probably accepting reality and giving in, knowing no matter what he does, I will get my way. It is only when Brendon is making noises as if he is trying to say something do I stop.

“N-no, pl-lease. W-why don’t y-you just leave m-me al-lone?” 

I sigh and wipe the seemingly endless number of tears away, and then run my fingers through his dark hair. “I already told you, Brendon. I find you sexy and want to fuck you… That’s what is going to happen.” 

I kiss his forehead before moving downward and capture his lips in mine once more. I slither my tongue into his mouth, causing him to squeak from surprise.


End file.
